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It's turning into yet another late night on Serenity. He's checked the course as many times as he can, done a couple of fuel-conserving tweaks on it, and wrapped up part forty-eight of The Rolling Plains of That Grassy Place. (Oscar died a horrible death at Crichton's stubby little hands. It was very sad.)

So now Wash is sitting on the cargo bay catwalk with a stack of paper scraps. The spaceball hoop's winched down a few feet, and he's aiming some neatly-folded paper airplanes through it.